Series 12 - Week 3

Ah Jenny, ye seemed lovely, so ye did, but a denim salopette apron over a gypsy ballgown and a lo-fi recreation of noted shod-fest Mamma Mia was never going to yield success.  Don't get me wrong - I bloody lurve the hot mess that is the Mamma Mia film!  Such a stellar cast of super-famous, highly talented Hollywood stars, all so consistently unsuited to singing and dancing – it's like a PTA Am Dram musical with a slightly raised budget.   It's just not known for, well, conveying quality.

So sorry Sweepstaker Holly for your £1 loss (which, erm, I'll need to collect from you) – the luck of the Irish wasn't with you this year.

I suspect Jennifer's foxtrot would have easily beaten Judy's quickstep (another week of looking gorge but dancing awf) or Scott's Under Da Sea samba (adorabad - "he's dancing like he HAS crabs" quoth Mr Cad).  And on a good night, Jenny might even have vanquished Tim's charleston (more Wossy than Fosse - I realise this makes little sense, but, you know, rhyming).  But she had almost zero chance in the Dance Off against Simon from Blue, even on Male Rumba week.  Lest said about that, I think - in tribute to his lack of hip action.  At least it's behind him now.

Though, on the subject of 'behind him', a word on this week's trousers, if I may, because... What the ACTUAL HELL was going on there?

Strictly Come Trouser-Watch

1. Firstly, I really hated Simon's rumba slacks - far too dress-down Friday for a ballroom contest.  This dance-chino look has got to stop, Vicky Gill.  And it has to stop NOW.

2. And what the blimmin' 'eck was Kevin from Grimsby wearing? (Top AND bottom half, come to think of it.)  Look At My Fucking Red Trouser-leggings, matched with a work experience accountant's shirt'n'tie - way to ruin the otherwise BRILLIANT paso Kevin had made for Frankie.  What an ovary-suppressant.

3. On the other ovary, HELLO SNUG.  Steve's impressively triangular torso may have been encased in a tight chiffon sleeveless leopard print manblouse (Donny suggested clubbing - it's Vauxhall or bust in that outfit), but the nation's eyes were inevitably glued to the will-they-won't-they-split drama in his buttock region.  No Lycra has the requisite give to deal with such convex muscle action.  It's a wonder we didn't see his jungle book.

4. But last and most eye-popping of all – those Superman trousers. 'Tight' is not the word - because the word is 'I can literally see your penis, Mark'.  LITERALLY.  Claudia did her best to distract us by donning cardboard pants over her dress but to no decent avail.  It was OB-SCENE.  Cape or no cape.

Though I wouldn't put it past Karen for willy-gate to have been a deliberate part of the choreography - I mean given that cracked out paso, ANYTHING was possible.  I think I loved it though - there was something naughtily pleasing about the notion that, although there's a group of not-so-great dancers whose pros are all vying for the comedy spot, Karen wins the Joke Dance prize with a competent mover.

Having said that, it was also refreshing to see a traditional Strictly performance in that sea of hyped-up garish bizzarity - I don't often dish out Strictlycad props for Brendan Cole, but I really loved Sunetra's American Smooth (and that scarlet dress – what excellent cleavage!). It was probably my favourite dance of the night, as it actually eluded some kind of emotion beyond 'hilare' or 'cringe'.

After all, Pixie must surely have thrown out an excellent and traditional-enough ballroom routine, but I remember precisely nothing about her, um, quickstep was it?  Truth is, my eyes glaze over when Pixie dances.  It's all a bit too autopilot.  (But she seems sweet enough - I'm sure I'll warm eventually.)

However, I did get some emosh from Caroline's Gravity rumba, which was good enough for the main focus to be the dance and on not Pasha's pristinely waxed chest and ludicrous silver spacetights (this is probably what saved them from going straight into the Strictlycad Trousersnake Chart of Shame).

In retrospect, it's perhaps surprising that Thom escaped the Spray On Slacks Parade, but Iveta's clearly playing the long game - keep the spandex to minimum (for now) and trust in the dressing up box.  You don't have to have to rely on undersized wet-look trews if you're using a sailor's uniform, and especially if that's off the back of 'Howdy Thom Cowboy' and 'Bond, Thom Bond' fantasy shots.  Ivetamazing is evidently saving the hiphuggers for rumba week.  At this point, suggestion is all...

Elsewhere, Aljaž gave the role play cupboard a pass this week and wisely spent his time creating a dance that gave the impression of a jive, without really being much of a jive at all.  I can understand why - the jive isn't an ideal dance for the more buxom of laydeez (Alison herself stormed It Takes Two as she discussed how her breasts were doing a whole other dance to the rest of her - mazin').  Anyway, it turns out you can totes get away with leaving out kicksnflicks, if you manage to give off the impression of jive bounce through sheer exuberance, and Aljaž cleverly put together something which wafted out Alison's jivey joy vibes, without having to subject her bra to too much stress-testing.

Janette did the same kind of thing for Jake - nothing bra-related, I hasten to clarify - but choreographing to strength.  Even though Jake's salsa suggests he can do ANYTHING, there's no question he still has a natural bent towards baldy-fury-face, so ¡Manrara! tweaked a romantic snoozesome waltz into something more menacing and serious.  Although I didn't like Frankie and Kevin's jive-charleston last week, I'm apparently not always anti-fusion, as I really loved Jake and Janette's moody tango in three-four waltz.  Sometimes rule-bending works...

HOWEVER! THERE WAS ONE (UNSPOKEN) RULE WHICH WAS OH SO RUDELY FLOUTED ON SATURDAY - YES I'M LOOKING AT YOU DONNY OSMOND.  I AM LOOKING AT YOU!  KNOW THIS, DONNY! KNOW THIS, 'BUDDY'.  IT IS ABSOLUTELY NOT FOR YOU, AS A GUEST JUDGE - THAT'S A GUEST (DAMMIT I CAN'T USE CAPS FOR EMPHASIS) JUDGE - TO GIVE THE FIRST TEN OF THE SERIES!  THAT IS SIMPLY UNACCEPTABLE! A TEN FROM A GUEST JUDGE MEANS NOTHING! AND IT CERTAINLY MEANS NOTHING IN WEEK 3 WITH ITS PREPOSTEROUS MOVIE THEME I MEAN, I CAN'T EVEN, WHAT WAS THAT, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, JUST NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOO.

NO!

So yeah, that slightly annoyed me.  I suppose Donny ("did you know I won Dancing With The Stars, did you know, did you know that, did you?") wasn't as terrible as that time Jennifer Grey guest-judged off the back of a bender in Amsterdam and was in a weird sort of drug limbo where she could only give eights.

Maybe that drug limbo is catching - especially where Saturday's Hollywood opener was concerned.  Like, whaaa?  In case you missed it, it kicked off with the two English pros allowed to try some 'acting' and some 'accents' (neither Kevin nor Anton's forte, that's for sure), before we were treated to Craig, Len and Bruno having a go at some actual singing. (Well, 'singing'.)  I can only assume that the producers had realised that having the judges dance in wasn't doing as much as it should to suggest expertise and ease of movement, so they wanted to showcase some of their other musical theatre 'skills'.  Things might have returned to normal after that, if they'd just stuck with a bog-standard Top Hat-esque pro-number, but no no, they had to bring the celebs out, didn't they?  Fortunately, they were able to stick Caroline, Pixie and Frankie front and centre in the name of damage-limitation – or so you'd think, but not even those lovely starlets could really pull off the 'Walk Like An Egyptian' come 'I'm A Little Teapot' come 'Gangnam Style' move they'd been asked to do.  THEN, just when I thought we'd reached peak cray-cray, the judges came back out to do some Scottish dancing.  At least, we got a brief shot of Thom Evans in white tie.  Even if it was far, far too brief.

Still, on the bright side, they didn't resurrect Brucie for some crooning'n'tap-dancing, cause they really, really could've... Instead we got Claudia chucking popcorn in Tess' bra, then having a giggle breakdown live on camera – it was MAJESTIC.

Less majestic = Claudia's red jumpsuit, which tested the very limits of my fangirldom.  Tess, however, is a whole new fashion icon these days - I'm officially retiring the #tessdressmess hashtag (in the hope we see her in a horror next week).

So that's more or less it, bar the Gawd Love Ya Mary Poppins opener on Sunday, which saw Natbot EMOTING like there was no tomorrow and showing off her hobnail boot setting.  We also got Anton and Joanne and Donny all gurning to Moonriver, but we'll swiftly gloss over that (most posts on my Twitter timeline simply read: "Mute").  To be honest, Movie Week was a challenging show at times (#FirstWorldProblems), but the theme weeks so often are a selection of huh and weirdness and actual crapola.  The main thing is that we survived!  Back to normality next week, whatever that might mean - at the very least it means NO GUEST JUDGE!  So yay to that.  Until then, keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep rejoicing!